The Bessie Series - Books 1-3

5. Heaven

Bessie sits cross-legged in pajamas on a small blue mat in a sea of small blue mats, each with a teenage girl on it. Facing her, Ash also sits in lotus position. All but two are earnestly meditating, their eyes closed.

From her lap, Ash pulls out two mini-packs of NecNac Snaks: a delectable treat made from nectarines and cinnamon, dried and sliced into wafer thin chips. She takes some before leaning over to hand the other bag to Bessie.

Ash whispers through her fingers while munching, “So this guy? He tells me the reincarnating souls? They go back to Earth at exactly 4:00 a.m.” A loud crunch echoes in the meditation room as she stuffs another chip in her mouth with her rhinestone-encrusted fingernails before adding, "Our version of time, that is."

Bessie stops mid-chip, stuffing the bag under the edge of her mat. “Angel alert.”

Reassuming lotus positions, the girls poise their hands upwards on their knees with thumbs touching their middle fingers. Too loudly, they hum, “Ommmm … ommmm …”

Ommmm … ommmmThe footfalls of a slim angel in yoga pants approach. She stops beside Ash and Bessie, looking suspiciously from one to the other and back again before moving on down the hardwood floor.

When she’s finally far enough away, they relax and pull out their squished NecNac Snaks. Bessie leans forward to ask, “For sure? 4:00 a.m.? Ommmm. That’s what he said? Ommmm …”

OmmmmOmmmmAsh brushes lint from one of the golden snacks. “On the button,” she reveals. “It’s the midpoint of night or something, when this layer between life and death, or Earth and Heaven, is the thinnest. Ommmm. Or so he tells me. Ommmm …”

OmmmmOmmmm “Oh, really?” A small smile creeps over Bessie’s face.

Ash stares at her garish timepiece sparkling in a circle of zircons. She murmurs, “You thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

Bessie tells her, “Set your watch for three-thirty.”

* * *

The night sky is extraordinary, the stars glistening and glowing with unearthly radiance. Bessie and Ash stroll down an empty road winding through the lush countryside. The air is thick with the scent of summer lilac, magnolia, and wild roses. Frogs croak in unseen ponds. An owl hoot-hoots from the branch of an elm. A host of night birds swoop in the sky.

hoot-hootsBessie breaks the silence. “Remember that song we used to sing at camp when we were kids?” She begins, wistfully at first. “Row, row, row your boat …”

“Row, row, row your boat …”Ash joins in, in traditional round style, just as they had around the campfire long ago. “Row, row, row your boat …”

“Row, row, row your boat …”Now Bessie: “Gently down the stream …”

“Gently down the stream …”Ash jumps in, “Gently down the stream …”

“Gently down the stream …”Bessie with more gusto: “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily …”

“Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily …”Followed by Ash’s version, “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily …”

“Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily …”Stopping in the middle of the road, they stare at each other. Together, they sing the last line very softly: “Life is but a dream.”

“Life is but a dream.”The girls walk in silence for a while before Ash pipes up, “What’s that mean, anyway? Life is but a dream.” She waves around her arms, jingling her many bracelets. “Life is but a dream. If life is but a dream, then what’s reality?” She turns to look her friend in the eye.

Bessie whispers, “Heaven?”

They stand as still as statues, barely breathing. Craning their necks to stare at the magnificence of the night sky, the stars seem to be communicating with them, the way they twinkle and dip as the truth sinks in.

Ash whispers, “Holy moly.”

* * *

“You sure that guy said four?” Bessie asks, her legs cramping in her scrunched-down position. They are in their usual hiding place inside the hedge outside of Heaven Interportal Airport.

Ash peers through the leaves. “Swear that’s what he said.” The area is as deserted as a beach in winter. Then she cries, “Bess, Bess!” She bangs on her friend’s arm.

“What?” Bessie looks up from stretching out her left foot. “Oh!”

Out of thin air a long, wooden table materializes, set with elegant silver candlesticks. The table grows in length until the end is invisible. Air Heaven personnel begin to appear, very crisp in their powder blue uniforms with tiny, embroidered gold wings embossed over their chest pockets. Everyone seems to be in a party mood, chatting away.

“Over there!” Bessie shouts. “Look!”

On the far hillside, a long slow line of heavenly residents, dressed in flowing white gowns, drift down the pathways towards the airport. Each is carrying a white candle burning brightly in the night sky. Alongside, an occasional Ground Crew angel supervises.

“The reincarnating souls,” Bessie whispers.

“Oh … I … it’s so … wow.” Ash, for once, is lost for words. Then, “Hey, Bess, there’s Miss Tight Ass.”

Sure enough, the Soulslady from Bodysuits Boutique appears simultaneously with an impossibly huge clothes rack, jam-packed with empty hangers. She stands, holding her hands in front of her, watching the approaching candlelit parade of souls about to return to the Earth dimension.

Soon the lines reach the gardens outside the airport, each participant nervously holding their candles high. They shuffle about, apprehensive and excited at the same time, as Air Heaven angels calm and soothe.

One angel, who seems to be the leader, judging by her silver robes and ruby headband, carries a large white box lying on her open palms. Her voice has the quality of maple syrup. “Are you ready for your big new adventure, everyone? You remember your instructions?”

Heads bob up and down. They start to approach the wooden table all at once.

“One at a time, people. One at a time,” the Head Angel says with infinite patience.

The first gowned passenger heads to the table to set his candle into a candlestick. Soon the remainder flow in a rhythmic hum, putting their candles into silver holders before returning to their places in line.

Ash and Bessie gawk with jaws slack, eyes like owls.

“I … I can hardly …” Bessie’s voice stumbles. “Look, there’s Clark Gable! And he’s with—”

“His gorgeous wife Carole Lombard,” Ash gushes. “She died so tragically in a plane crash. She was only thirty-three.”

They watch in awe as Clark and Carole take their turns putting their candles into candlesticks. Ash wonders out loud, “Do you think I might have become an actress like her?”

“Something’s happening,” Bessie interrupts.

The Head Angel now stands before the table glowing in candlelight. “You’re about to say goodbye to your old images and prepare for your next lives. Focus on what we practiced, everyone. Are you ready?” She treats her audience to her camp counselor’s grin.

Voices titter nervously. Clark looks over at Carole with a shy smile. He leans in to give her a light kiss.

The Head Angel’s voice rings out. “Okay, then. In orderly fashion, please.”

A flutter of white gowns heads for the Soulslady and her rack of empty hangers. One by one they stand forward, first removing their white gowns and tossing them into one of several wicker baskets. Then they reach up to the crowns of their heads to tug off their images by small silver threads. All that remains is a shimmering outline the size of an infant, in an aura of rainbow shades.

“This is so … so … so …” Ash babbles like a star struck starlet.

“Awesome?” Bessie teases. “Say goodbye to your Hollywood heroine.”

Clark and Carole now stand together before the Soulslady, smiling into each other’s eyes one last time. Giggling, they pull off their white gowns, tossing them into a basket. After one last look at each other, they tug off their images in unison and hand them over. Two sparkling little auras race back into line.

When all the discarded images are safely stored onto the rack, the Soulslady and her new stock for her boutique vanish into thin air. Other angels pick up the wicker baskets now overflowing and disappear as well.

The Head Angel walks from aura to aura, handing out ivory envelopes from the box she’s carrying, addressed in intricate gold script. One aura fumbles and drops his, scrambling to pick it up again. The angel addresses the gathering, “And for the love of God, don’t lose them on your flight.”

A humming sound begins overhead. In the distance, an Air Heaven jet-cloud approaches rapidly until it hovers over the back of the airport.

The massive bell in the glass steeple begins to toll: one, two, three times. The crystal door swings wide open. The staircase spills out of the jet-cloud, attaching to the Sacred Portal. A commanding female pilot steps out proudly and stands at the top of the stairs, smiling.

Swiftly, the line of shimmering auras files through the front arch of flowers across the platform, their envelopes swinging back and forth. The Head Angel calls out, “Good luck, everyone. Live the life you’re dreaming of!”

From their hideout, Ash and Bessie watch the baby-like auras float through the open-air platform and out the sacred exit that connects Heaven and Earth. Up the staircase they go and into the aircraft. It appears each one is receiving a hug by the attendant at the door who is crouched down on her knees.

Finally, all passengers are on board, and the door closes. The jet-cloud disappears into the night sky. Even the angels vanish. All is still except for two teenage girls collapsing backwards onto the ground, worn out from all the excitement.

“Too bad we can’t go back. Yet.” Ash’s voice is full of yearning.

“Not until we figure out our old lives, or so sayeth the Angel Mel,” Bessie reminds her. A twig breaks, startling them into upright positions. “Who’s there?” she demands of the darkness.

Out of a nearby stand of trees, a shape creeps towards them. Sensing Bessie’s gaze, the shape stops in its tracks before taking another step out into the moonlight.

Jason.

Jason.Bessie jumps to her feet, the color draining from her features. Words won’t form on her lips. She yanks on Ash’s arm. Finally, she spits out, “He’s … he’s …”

“Who?” Ash wants to know, untangling her lanky limbs to get on her feet. “Someone’s here? Who?”

Holding hands, the girls peer into the night blackened stand of trees. No one is there. Only a branch moves ever so slightly.

Ash pipes up, “Oh, you’re just imagining things, Bess. Maybe you just thought—”

“Let’s go.” Bessie cuts her off, tearing uphill and down towards the road, trailed by a stumbling and complaining Ash.

Jason walks over to the spot where the girls had been hiding inside the bushes. In a lower branch, he spies a piece of Bessie’s T-shirt torn off in her haste to leave. With long bony fingers he carefully removes it, holding it to his cheek and sniffing it. He stands there in the moonlight, his sandy hair tufting in a million directions. His body is so tall and lean that it seems to waver in the slight breeze like a blade of marsh grass.